After Annie
by Bugmouthga
Summary: When it comes to being a super-spy extraordinaire, Maxwell Smart is used to flirting with gorgeous women. But after his latest assignment with Ann Cameron, he comes home to a rather chilly reception from his lovely, and pregnant, wife, Agent 99. Can he set things right with the mother of his future children, or will he be doomed to sleep alone?


AFTER ANNIE

The car ride home was silent and held an ominous feel to it. Max couldn't quite understand why, though. He glanced furtively over at his wife, as he drove them home in his gold Opal. 99 sat beside him, riding shot gun, with her arms folded across her chest, resting on her vast, protruding tummy. She looked away from him, out her passenger side window, but Max could see her brooding reflection in the glass. She did not look happy. "Hey 99," Max called cheerfully, "What's for dinner?"

"For you, nothing," she grumbled, "For me? I'm having steak, with corn, mashed potatoes, salad, and for dessert, banana cream pie."

"Mmm," Max smiled in anticipation, "That sounds delicious and- hey! What do you mean, nothing?!"

"I mean, nothing," she snapped at him.

Yep, Max thought to himself, wearing a heavy scowl, Not happy. He sighed, wondering what in the world could be wrong with her now. Boy, pregnant women sure are moody!

But, he reasoned, it's not completely 99's fault. After all, she's got all those weird hormones out of whack and it makes her seem like a crazy woman.

Max glanced over at his crazed, hormonal wife again. Wow, but she was huge! He took a look at her steadily widening girth- she seemed to be growing right before his eyes! At times, he wondered just what she was actually carrying- a baby, or a baby elephant? Well, he could only hope for a boy- especially now. No baby girl should be that big! He knew that poor 99 had wanted a girl. Not that he didn't want one someday, either. He remembered, at the early stages of her pregnancy, 99 was just sure they were going to have a girl, until Max set her straight, and assured her she was carrying his son. [In truth, 99 hadn't been set straight by Max, she'd only stopped insisting to avoid any further arguments with her husband. But deep in her heart, she was still certain that she was carrying her daughter.]

"What are you looking at?" 99 asked suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Your big tummy," he blurted.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, take a picture; it lasts longer!"

Max shrugged, as he pulled up to a stoplight. He reached into his pocket and produced his mini- camera. He began to snap pictures, aiming it right at his wife's stomach.

"Max?! What are you doing?"

He groaned. "But 99! You just told me to take a-"

"I was kidding, Max," she hissed.

"Oh. Well, next time, you should tell me when you're kidding. Sometimes it's hard to know with you. Especially right now, with your brain cells bubbling from your over-active hormones."

"Excuse me?" 99 asked, blinking in disbelief.

"Your hormones," he explained, "You're pregnant, 99. So, it's okay. You're not supposed to make any sense right now."

She gasped in shock and disgust. "Well, I like that!"

"See?" he told her, "That's because you're irrational. A normal person wouldn't like that at all."

"Max!"

"What, 99?"

"Pull over!"

"But why?"

"Pull over this instant!"

"Okay," he agreed, trying to remain sensitive to her pregnant ways. He maneuvered the car over and pulled into the parking lot of a nearby shopping center, and put the car in park. "What is it now, 99?" But when he turned to look at her, Max saw that she was getting out of the car. "99, where are you going? Did you want to do a little shopping?"

"No!" she muttered slamming the door shut.

Max rolled down his window. "Hey, 99! What are you doing, then?"

"I'm going to call a cab to take me home!" she hollered back at him, as she waddled over to a phone booth.

"Well, you don't need to do that," he assured, "That's where I'm going, anyway. We can both go home together."

Rolling her eyes, 99 stopped and glanced back at him. "I know that, Max. The point is, I don't want to ride with you."

"Oh, I see," Max said in comprehension, "Need a little pregnant girl time to yourself, eh?"

"No, I need a little get-away-from-the-annoying-husband time!" And with that, she stormed off.

Max watched as she toddled over to the telephone booth and squeezed her way in. He shook his head at her. "Yep," he sighed, pulling his car up closer to the phone booth, "Hormones."

XXX

Max had waited there until the cab arrived, despite 99's protests for him to leave, and the dirty looks she shot in his direction.

When the cab arrived, 99 got in and told the driver where he needed to go. He appeared confused, though, so Max cheerfully offered to lead the way. He instructed the cabbie to just follow behind him.

"You mean you're going to the same place?" the cabbie asked in bewilderment.

"Yes," Max told him.

"But then . . . why don't you just drive her home, sir?"

Max smiled and confidentially leaned in closer to the taxi driver. "Well," he whispered, "She's pregnant, you see..."

"So?" the driver asked, "Won't she fit in your car?"

99 rolled her eyes, feeling more humiliated by the second. "Can we just go now, please?"

"Sure," both men pacified her.

Running back to his Opal, Max got in and started off, the taxi following close behind.

XXX

Max and 99 entered the apartment together, but 99 marched directly up the stairs and into their bedroom. Max followed her up, and silently watched her as she changed into her pajamas. He regarded her bloated stomach, without uttering a word. Still, looking at her now, he had to admit the protruding tummy was rather cute. And the pregnancy had given 99 a beautiful glow. He smiled at the woman, growing smitten with her all over again. "Hey 99," he said gently, "How about that dinner?"

"I already told you, I'm not making you anything!" she snapped, as she began to turn down the covers on the bed.

"I know," he replied, making sure to keep his voice calm and even, "But what about you? You're eating for two now, you know, so you should eat something."

"I'm . . . not hungry," she grumbled.

"Oh, well I am," he told her, "I'm going to make something to eat. Uh, do you want something?"

"No!"

"Alrighty then," he called cheerfully, leaving the room, and heading downstairs for the kitchen.

He made himself a big, thick club sandwich, stocked full with deli meats and vegetables; dripping with mayonnaise and mustard, just the way he liked it. After eating it up, he made one for 99, as well, despite what she'd told him a moment before. Normally, when making her anything, Max would give 99 a much smaller helping, but with the way her appetite had grown lately (a lot like her big belly), he made her a sandwich even bigger than the one he had eaten.

Then, setting the sandwich on a little plate, he stuck it on a tray, along with a tall glass of milk and a napkin. He brought it upstairs and opened up the bedroom door. He found 99 laying down and reading a book.

"Hi, 99," he said, making sure to keep his tone light and happy, "I made you something to eat."

"I told you, I'm not hungry!"

"Well, maybe you aren't hungry, but did you ever stop to think that Junior might be?"

"Don't you mean, Juniorette?" she retorted.

He sighed inwardly. So, she was back to her girl theories, was she? Ah well, she'd find out soon enough that it was a boy lying around in her tummy. "Yeah," he said, "But I think you ought to eat something. For the baby's sake- um, whatever it may be." He set the tray down over her. "Here you go."

99 didn't say thank you (something she always did), but she did eat the sandwich he made for her- crust and all. Max watched in amazement as she polished off the entire meal, then guzzled down her glass of milk, in one, long swig. She completely reminded him of the most of his old Army buddies, recalling how they used to wolf down their meals pretty much the same way. He half expected her to let loose with a big, loud belch (or, at the very least, a hiccup, or two), and he waited for it, but when she didn't, he sighed in disappointment, and took her tray away. (If only he'd stayed just a moment longer . . .)

He returned a couple of minutes later, and saw that 99 had resumed her reading. He watched her from the doorway, smiling wistfully at her. Sure, she was mad at him, but that didn't stop him from admiring her from a distance. Her half lidded eyes were looking down at the paperback she was reading, as she balanced it on her stomach, holding on with her right hand. The long, slender fingers of her left hand absently twirled through her soft, brown hair, which halted only long enough to turn a page now and then. She was like an immortal Grecian goddess, lounging about. The only thing missing was a bowl of grapes and some wine. Despite the enormous bump of her tummy poking out of the covers- or, maybe because of it- Max had the urge to go to bed early tonight.

Quietly, he ventured into the bathroom, and did his nightly ritual: Brush teeth, potty, change into pajamas. Then he hopped into bed beside his wife, pulled the covers up around him, and reached for 99.

"What are you doing, Max?" she asked pointedly, nipping all of his amorous intentions in the bud.

"Trying to love you," he said frankly, "But it's a little hard when you push me away, or yell at me, or look at me in that certain way- like the way you're looking at me right now, actually."

She narrowed her normally large, blue eyes at him. "Max, did you ever stop to think that the reason I'm looking at you in that certain way, as you put it, right now, is because that you make me so angry, and that I'm . . ." she hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle it. ". . . not in the mood." She turned away from him, and went back to reading her novel.

Max sat back and just looked at her for the longest time. Well, that had never happened before! And it was true. 99 had never pushed him away before like that- never in the entire time he had known her. Especially not since they'd been married. Usually, he couldn't keep her off of him! But now, in the perfect setting, at the perfect time of the evening, with nothing better to do, his wife was giving him the cold shoulder. Him! Maxwell Smart, the most debonair man on the planet; spy extraordinare! A man among men- no, a king among men! The kind of man the ladies swooned over; the kind they automatically flocked to; the kind they- Wait a minute! Something suddenly occurred to Max. Something that he hadn't thought of before.

99 wasn't just being hormonal. 99 was being jealous! Jealous of his latest assignment, having to marry Ann Cameron, no doubt. The very idea of it all tickled him. Not that he took kindly to being snubbed by his own wife; but simply for the fact that she loved him enough to feel so jealous about him- even though she should have realized by now that he was really and truly all hers! After all, they were married- husband and wife. They shared a home and a bed and a life. And now they were about to become parents together- Mommy and Daddy! That was a lot for two people to embark on as a unit, and, to his way of thinking, they pretty much owned each other- or, at least, belonged to each other (yes, that sounded much nicer).

He wasn't sure as to why 99 should pick now to get all jealous and fired up over some female- one who was only just another mission to him, mind you- unless, of course, it really was her hormones taking over her senses. Reaching out to the woman who's back was currently turned on him, he touched the silky, brown strands of her hair, and breathing in the soft scent of lavender, startling her, and she turned around.

"Max," she said warningly.

"Hey 99," he said, grinning at her, "I just want you to know that I love you, sweetheart; and I just gotta know, are you mad because I pretended to flirt with Ann Cameron?"

"Pretended?!" she hissed at him, "Pretended to flirt with her?! Good Lord, Max, she was all over you and you did nothing to stop her!"

"Well . . ." he began sheepishly.

"Max, she tried to kill you!" 99 informed him, her voice rising in pitch, "And besides drooling all over her, you just stood there and tried to figure out a way she could get out of prison as early as possible!"

"But I just felt sorry for her," Max tried to explain, "It's not too often that you hear about a lady going to prison for something like that." She glowered at him. "Okay, maybe lady is too strong a word."

"Max," 99 sighed, her lower lip starting to quiver, "You couldn't stop flirting with her!"

"But 99-"

"No," she interrupted, "Even after she'd been discovered as an attempted murderess you still couldn't take your eyes off of her!"

"That's not true," he cried scandalously.

"Max, I was there!" she told him, "In the very same room, although, it's no wonder you didn't even notice me! You were too busy being transfixed by some other woman!"

He groaned, "But 99, I didn't mean anything by it! Why would I want to go running off with Ann Cameron, anyway? So what if she's beautiful and rich and thin?! I don't need any of that! Just you!" He paused for a brief inflection, realizing already that he hadn't explained himself very well.

"Get out!" 99 yelled into his face, as she began to cry, "Get out of here right now!"

"But 99," he pleaded, "I can't; it's bed time!"

"Go sleep on the couch!"

"No!" he yelled back at her, "Look 99, this is my bed, paid for with my money, so I'm not going anywhere!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Max, this is our bed, paid for with our money!"

He sighed. Of course, she was right. 99 was- and truthfully always had been- an equal partner in his life; both at work, as well as at home. He didn't know why he tried to play boss with her. She never really stood for it- always put him in his place. She just normally did it in a much nicer, less vocal way than now.

"All right," he whimpered, conceding her point, "I'm sorry, honey. Now, can I please stay in here, in the nice, warm bed!"

"Sure," she told him, as she struggled to sit up, "I'll go sleep on the couch then."

"No 99," he blurted, "You would probably just roll off, you're so round."

Her beautiful face contorting in rage, 99 sobbed harder, and yelled louder, "GET OUT NOW!"

Max's beady eyes grew wide, and he rushed out of the room, taking his pillow with him. He shut the door just in time to avoid getting hit on the head with her paperback novel.

XXX

Max rushed downstairs and picked up the phone, dialing rapidly. He knew this number by heart. Soon, the steady ringing was replaced by a familiar voice. "Hello?"

"Hey, Chief," Smart replied, his tone already turning to whiny, "It's me, Max."

He could hear the older man sigh. He had no idea, of course, but the Chief always expected the worst whenever he heard his top agent's voice. "What is it now, Max?"

"Well," Max began hesitantly, "I . . . well Chief, something terrible has happened."

"Terrible?" the Chief perked up, his attitude turning from weary into concern in an instant, "Max, what's wrong?"

"I . . ." Max paused, before confiding his troubles. 99 was right upstairs. Supposing she came downstairs, or started eavesdropping at the top step, or listened in on the upstairs extension, while he discussed his little problem with his good friend and father figure over the phone. "Uh, Chief, this is not something I can discuss over the phone. Can you- well, would you meet me somewhere?"

"Gee Max," the Chief mumbled, "It is after eight o'clock, you know. Not many places are still open."

"How about the Pink Flamingo?" Max suggested, "You know, that new bar on Broadway and Pantano? It just opened up."

"Well, I don't know . . ."

"Please, Chief," Max pleaded, "I'm really scared and I just have to talk to you!"

"Oh, all right, Max," the Chief relented, "I'll meet you there in one half hour."

"Great! Thanks, Chief. I'll see you there. Bye."

"Goodbye, Max."

Max hung up the phone, then ventured over to the closet, where he kept extra clothes. He quickly changed. He was about to rush out the door, when he realized that he hadn't told 99 he was leaving. He ran up the steps and tried to open the door to their bedroom. It was locked. He narrowed his eyes, and sighed. "Fine, 99, have it your way. I'm going out! I'll see you later! Maybe!"

XXX

The Chief entered the Pink Flamingo, and scanned the dark, smoky pub for his top agent. Finally, he spotted him sitting at the bar and nursing a beer. Quietly, inconspicuously, he walked over and sat down next to Max. The two remained silent for some time, until the Chief felt the coast was clear. "Max," he whispered, with a nod.

"Chief," Max replied.

The bartender approached and asked the Chief what he'd like to drink. The Chief ordered a beer, also, and kept quiet until he returned with his drink and left them alone again.

"All right, Max," the Chief said, "What's the matter? You sounded so upset over the phone. Is it KAOS? Something to do with the mission today?"

"Well, sort of," Max told him, "It all stems from the end of the mission today."

"What happened, then?" the Chief fretted, "Did KAOS threaten you? I thought we tied up all the loose ends."

"Well, that's what you get for thinking, Chief," Max sighed, "But it wasn't anything to do with KAOS. It's something even worse!"

"Worse than KAOS?" the Chief surmised, emitting a low whistle, "Okay Max, I give up. What could possibly be worse than a threat from KAOS?"

"How about an angry, hormonal wife?" Max replied, folding his arms in frustration at the very recollection, "I really wish you hadn't put me on this mission, Chief. Now, I've got 99 mad at me! She won't cook for me! She won't kiss me! She won't sleep with me! And it's all your fault!"

"Excuse me?" the Chief asked in surprise, "Max, I think you're blaming this all on the wrong person, here."

"Well, I can't totally blame 99, Chief," Max reasoned, "After all, she is pregnant."

"No, Max," the Chief sighed, "I mean, I believe the reason 99 got so upset with you is not because you were put on that case, but because of the fact that you flirted shamelessly with Ann Cameron the entire time. And not just during the wedding ceremony, but even after Ann was discovered to be a traitor- and even after 99 was there with you both in the room! You flirted with another woman- a beautiful, young woman, while your beautiful, young wife- who just happens to be carrying your child- was watching you!"

Max looked blankly at the man. "And your point is . . .?"

The Chief groaned audibly. "Oh Max, that was the point! Jeez, just by recalling everything you've done today, even I am beginning to get mad at you!"

"But why?"

"Listen to me, Max," the Chief informed him no nonsensely, "You did a great disservice to 99 today. You made her feel . . . inferior, unloved, unwanted- and all in front of her colleagues and a strange woman."

"Now, just a minute here, mister," Max hissed, "99 is not inferior, unloved or unwanted!"

"Maybe you should tell 99, then, Max," his boss shot back, "Because, from the way you say she's been behaving towards you, it sounds as if she doesn't know that."

Max narrowed his eyes at his superior and old friend. He realized the man spoke the truth, but he hated being shown up; proved wrong; made to look like a terrible husband, which is how he was beginning to feel. His anger towards himself for being such a jerk, and at 99, for reacting to it defensively came forth, and aimed itself at the only available target: The Chief. "Hmph! Why should I even listen to you, Chief? What do you know about marriage? We couldn't even get you to date 99's mother, much less marry her!"

"Max," the Chief said softly, fully understanding the man's outburst, "It doesn't take a married man to understand human nature. Now, I've known 99 for quite a long time. Since she was just a kid, really. She has always been intelligent, level headed and had a good sense of self worth. A very healthy young lady. But, she's always had one, little flaw."

"What's that, Chief?" Max asked in surprise. He always thought of his wife to be perfect.

"You," the Chief said pointedly, "She has always been, without a doubt, head over heels in love with you!"

"So, what's wrong with that?" Max demanded to know, not finding 99's infatuation with him to fall into the flaw category.

"So, Max, when you love someone, you're always insecure," the Chief explained, "And don't say that you're not that way. I've seen and heard a lot of the idiotic questions you've asked 99 over the years, usually already knowing the answer, about how great you are. And it was all just to get the reassurance you needed that she still- and always would- love you! Well, it's the same thing for her, too, you know. In fact, women seem to have a worse time with it."

"They do?" Max asked in surprise. He'd always found 99 to be so cool and confident about everything that he'd likened her to near godhood. He had no idea that she would ever need assurance! In fact, women in general always seemed to possess the poise and grace of being invincible to his way of thinking. He had not been prepared for such a shocking revelation. "But, girls are so much prettier than us," he murmured in confusion, "Why would they need more reassurance?"

"Well," The Chief surmised wisely, "A lot of it might have to do with the horrible way we sometimes treat them- some of us more than others."

Max averted his eyes under the Chief's pointed stare. "What?! I don't do horrible things to 99! I love my wife! What have I ever done that's so horrible to her?!"

"For one thing," his boss answered, "You flirt with other women right in front of her. That alone is pretty horrible. But, if you want other examples, well, there was the time you bought her a toaster for her birthday. The time you bought her a blender for Valentine's day. The time you ignored her as she stood waiting for you under the mistletoe last Christmas . . . and that's not even counting the times before you got married."

"All right," Max snapped, "I get the point, already. I'm a lousy man, and a lousy husband, and I should be shot in the streets! I understand! The point is, how do I make it up to 99?"

"Well," the Chief began philosophically, but not without a smirk, "In theory, you'll never really be able to make it up to her. As we've been told for centuries now, men aren't the most . . . reliable creatures; and we really don't deserve any woman, much less a real good one, like 99."

"But Chief," Max asked, despondently, not getting his friend's humorous undertones, "If we're all that bad as women say we are, then why do they even want to marry us at all?"

The Chief shrugged. "Who else they gonna marry? Besides, they need someone to take out the trash."

"Oh boy," Max sighed, starting to feel nervous and uneasy, "Chief, 99 takes out the trash a lot of times herself! So, technically, I guess she doesn't even need me! What am I gonna do now?!" He began to whimper into his beer.

With a knowing smile, the Chief patted Max's arms. "Don't worry, Max. You can make it up to her. Despite what I said, 99 does need you."

"She does?" Max asked hopefully.

"Max," his boss tried to explain, "99 loves you more than . . . life itself! Trust me, she'd be miserable without you."

Smart scratched his head in confusion. "But Chief, she seems to be pretty miserable right now, with me! Oh, I hate it when 99 is mad at me! She doesn't let me get close to her at all! And when there's no closeness allowed, I can't function! I can't smell her hair! I can't hold her hand! I can't kiss her! And, well, you can just forget about me getting-"

"Max!" the Chief interrupted, "I get the gist, okay. No need to spell it out!"

"Well," Max sulked, "I'm just trying to show you how bad off I am, Chief."

"I understand, Max," the Chief sympathized, "And you're right; you will have to do something to make it up to her."

"What?"

"Well . . . how about a party?" the Chief suggested.

"But her birthday just happened, remember?"

"No, I mean for your anniversary. Technically, the two of you never got the chance to celebrate, because of that darn Ann Cameron case."

"Say, that's a good idea, Chief," Max exclaimed hopefully, "But how should we do it? A nice, simple dinner? Or a big, fancy party?"

"Big party," the Chief said, "In fact, the bigger, the better. You messed up so big, Max, that you'll need an even bigger apology."

"My apartment isn't ideal for a big shindig, Chief," Max admitted, "So, could we do this at Control headquarters?"

"Sure," he replied brightly, "And we can set it up in the basement- lot's of room in there!"

"Right!" Max agreed, "But, how do we get 99 there? Should I surprise her? Should I just tell her? Force her? 'Cause, if she knows I'll be there, then she may not want to come."

"It'll be easier to get her there under false pretenses," the Chief reasoned.

"You mean, lie?" Max asked nervously, "Uh, no offense, Chief, but I'm already on her kill list right now. I don't want to add fuel to the fire by lying to her."

"It won't a big lie," the Chief assured him, "But you'll surely want to make this party a surprise."

"Chief?"

"Yes, Max?"

"Please don't call me Shirley."

The Chief shook his head, but ignored his younger friend's idiocy. "Let's see . . . I can get Larabee and some of the others to decorate the basement at Control, for tomorrow night. We can get the cafeteria ladies to cater. Then, I'll call 99- so you won't have to lie- and get her to come in under some other guise and tell her to meet me down in the basement. That's perfect! And that is what we'll do!"

"You think it'll work, though?"

"Don't worry about anything, Max. You'll win back your lady fair!"

"No," Max disagreed, "I don't want this Lady Fair you're speaking of. I just want my 99 back. That's all!"

The Chief just smiled. "Okay, Max. You'll win your 99."

Max smiled back, grateful for the older gentleman's help, "Aw gee, Chief. This is so sweet of you, to help me out like this."

"Well," the Chief replied, blushing, "You two mean a lot to me. I think of you like my . . . children."

"Hmm . . . which one of us, Chief?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, both of you, Max."

"But Chief!" Max exclaimed in horror, "If I'm like your real son, and 99 is like your real daughter, then that would make us like brother and sister, which would turn our whole marriage into-"

"99 is my daughter, Max," the Chief replied quickly, not wanting to hear any further on Max's current train of thought.

"Well, in that case, why don't you marry 99's mother?"

"Shut up, Max," the older man sighed.

"Right, Chief. Oh- hey, Chief! I know you're planning everything with the party, and even doing the lie for me, too, but shouldn't I do something for this occasion? Especially considering it was my desperation that started it all."

"Hmm, you actually make a valid point, Max," the Chief admitted, mildly surprised, "Perhaps you should do something. But what . . .?"

"Oh! I've got it, Chief!" Max cried happily, "I'll write 99 a love poem to recite at the party!"

"Well . . ." the Chief stammered, "Okay; but be sure not to start it with 'There once was a man from Nantucket' or anything like that."

"Gotcha, Chief!"

"Good. Now that it's all settled what we'll do, let's go home! It's going to be a long, full day tomorrow, and we'll need a good night's sleep."

"Hmph, easy for you to say, Chief," Max muttered, "You don't have to sleep on a stiff, little couch tonight!"

"Aw, just make do for one night, Max," the Chief told him, "And if all goes well, you'll get your comfy, old bed back."

"But what if all doesn't go well, Chief?" Max asked in concern.

"Well, then you'll get a comfy new bed . . . all to yourself."

The two men exited the bar, Max grumbling all the way out. "Jeez Chief, I've spent the first thirty-nine years of my life in my own bed, and it's not nearly as much fun as sharing . . ."

XXX

All during the next day, Max kept to himself, trying to work on his love poem. It had been pretty easy avoiding 99, though. She seemed even angrier with him today for leaving the house last night, without offering to tell her where he was going.

Max was still trying, to finish up his poem, when he realized he had to leave for Control headquarters. The Chief had decided it would be easier for all involved if Max were to already be the office, so it wouldn't appear as suspicious. Max had agreed, but wondered how his wife would get to headquarters then. The Chief told him she could take a cab, to which Max had smartly replied, "And we certainly know she's capable of doing that!"

So, around 5:30 that evening, Max said goodbye to his silent, brooding wife, snuck his tuxedo out the door and drove himself to Control headquarters.

A half hour later, the Chief called 99 and asked her if she wouldn't mind getting into her best maternity dress and doing a quick, simple courier job at an embassy party. 99, at first, refused, saying she was too tired and, besides, she had grown out of her best maternity dress over a month ago, and could he please find someone else? The Chief, however, was shrewd, and he told 99 that no one else was available, so he'd already set it up with her contact at the party to look for a young, pregnant lady. "Besides," he'd added, as an effective guilt trip, "Your country is calling you."

With a weary, irritated sigh, 99 finally relented and agreed to go. The Chief told her to meet him in down in the stairway of the Control basement, for the secret plans she was to deliver to her contact at the embassy. He further told her to stop in wardrobe first, to see if she could find a suitable dress that would . . . accommodate her. Again, she heeded his instructions, then hung up the phone with him, and called for a taxi.

XXX

The party had been going on for about an hour and it was now in full swing. Music played. People danced; visited; munched on snacks. Larabee kept bugging the Chief to cut the cake and the Chief kept telling him, "No! Not until the guest of honor arrives!"

So, Larabee couldn't wait to see 99 show up.

Max kept mostly to himself, in a small corner of the room, still trying to finish the last couple lines of his poem. He certainly hoped it was good enough. He knew he'd never really be able to do his wife justice through poetry, but he intended to make a valiant effort. Otherwise, he was afraid that his first anniversary with 99, might also become his last. And that was one thing that he never wanted to happen. Ever! So, he kept at it.

A few minutes later, someone came down to announce that Agent 99 was in the building, and had gone to wardrobe. Everyone was told to prepare.

"Are we gonna turn off all the lights, Chief?" Larabee asked, as he polished off another plate full of cocktail weenies.

"I suppose we should," the Chief contemplated.

"Chief," Max exclaimed, rushing over, "Just don't turn off the lights at the stairs. I don't want my baby- or our baby, for that matter- falling down and getting hurt!"

"Good idea, Max," the Chief complimented, "Okay Larabee, get the floor lights, but leave the stair lights on."

"Right, Chief." Larabee scurried off to do his bidding.

"Are you ready, Max?" the Chief asked anxiously, gripping the younger man's shoulder.

Max looked petrified, and almost ready to cry. "Um, I- I think so. Gee Chief, I sure hope this all works out. It's my future at stake here."

"I know, Max," the Chief replied, patting the shoulder his hand currently rested upon, "But don't worry. Everything will be fine."

His words did little to comfort his top agent much, though. "Yeah," Max sighed despondently, "I'm scared it will."

A moment later, Agent 39 rushed down the stairs, announcing that he had seen a shadow in the hall, with a rather prominent stomach, fast approaching.

The lights were dimmed. Everyone got ready to jump up and yell "surprise". Suddenly, that shadowy figure entered the door at the top of the stairs, and descended downward.

"Surprise!" everyone yelled, as the lights came on to reveal . . . the Control robot Hymie, balancing a large bowl of punch against his metallic belly.

"Hello," he said cordially- as he was programmed to do, "Chief, here is the punch you wanted."

The group uttered a collective sigh of disappointment, as the Chief groaned and told Hymie, to put it on the big table at the far end of the dance floor.

Max glared at the sheepish Agent 39, who walked by, trying to remain inconspicuous after his horrendous mistake. "Thanks for the big let down, 39!"

"Sorry, 86," he mumbled apologetically.

"Jeez 39, how could think that Hymie was my wife?!"

"It was dark," he explained.

"But Hymie doesn't have long hair!"

"All I saw was a fuzzy shadow-"

"And Hymie isn't wearing a dress!"

"It was hard to tell from just a quick glimpse-"

"And Hymie isn't nearly as beautiful or sexy as my wife!"

"That really hurts, Max."

Smart turned around, already knowing who had uttered that line. It was Hymie the robot. His face held it's usual blank expression; his tone was it's normal monotone. Still, Max knew he'd hurt the metallic man. "Eh, sorry Hymie. I didn't mean that in a bad way."

"What other way is there for me to take it, Max?" the Control robot pouted.

Max rolled his eyes- a trait he'd picked up from his better half. "Oh Hymie," he assured him, "I'm sorry. Let's just say that you're the sexiest Control robot we have to offer."

"Max," Hymie reminded him, "I'm the only Control robot!"

"And that . . . clearly makes you the sexiest. See, no competition!" Max announced, trying with all his might to keep the peace.

In the background, a lovely Beatles song began to play.

"Here comes the sun (do-do-do-do).

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right . . ."

"But you don't think I'm sexier than Agent 99?" Hymie pressed him in his usual, quiet manner.

"Look Hymie," Max said, fed up with trying to appease the self-pitying cybernot, "I don't think anyone is sexier than 99!"

"Then why'd you keep staring at Ann Cameron so much?" Larabee asked as he passed by.

"Shut up, Larabee!" Max hissed.

Nobody noticed the service elevator button flashing, signaling someone was on their way down.

"I understand now, Max," Hymie said gently, "You love your wife the best, so you would naturally think of her as the sexiest."

"That's right, Hymie."

"I concede your point, Max," Hymie went on methodically, "Agent 99 is a beautiful female. She's no calculator, but as far as humans go, I would have to say that she is aesthetically pleasing to the eye. As a man might say, she is very hot."

"That she is, Hymie, that she is."

"On fire, hot," Hymie added.

Max eyed the robot with surprise and a fair amount of jealously. "Eh, let's not get too graphic, Hymie."

"And her pregnancy has only enhanced her beauty," the robot further elaborated, "Her hair is shinier, her skin even smoother; and she holds an ethereal glow that makes her appear simply angelic."

Max eyed the Control metal man in confusion. "Hymie you haven't even seen 99 since she was pregnant. How do you know about her e…ethereal glow?"

"I have seen her," Hymie informed him.

"You did? When?"

"Now," the cybernot recalled, and he pointed behind Max, over to where the service elevator doors had just opened up to reveal . . .

Max spun around to see . . .

"Little darlin', it's been that ice is slowly melted.

Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear.

Here comes the sun (do-do-do-do)

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right . . . "

99 stepped out into the basement, wearing the most breathtaking maternity dress ever made (and in such sort notice). It was a shimmery, silver sort of color; covered in glittering diamonds (or, as the wardrobe mistress liked to call then, rhinestones). The material was stretchy, and it did nothing to hide her large belly. Still, 99 looked soft and feminine and luminous on the eve of impending motherhood. She was a beautiful, breathtaking sight to behold for all who laid eyes upon her. But to one man in particular, she looked like a heavenly angel- a heavenly angel with a really huge gut. No! A heavenly angel with a really huge and beautiful gut.

Noticing that all eyes were on her, 99 glanced about nervously over to where Max stood with Hymie. The Chief was fast approaching from the left. 99 walked over to them. "Hey guys, what's going on?"

"Eh . . . surprise!" Max blurted, just as the romantic Beatles song came to an end.

"Surprise!" the rest of the gang sounded out, following Max's lead.

"Why, thank you," 99 replied cheerfully, as she smiled and waved to the crowd, "Thank you all." She leaned in close to Max, took hold of his arm, and yanked him to her, so she could whisper into his ear. "Max, what is going on here?"

"It's a . . . surprise party," Max gulped.

"I realize that," she sighed, "But what is it all for?"

"For- for you," he whispered, becoming terrified at the prospect of her wrath again (even though, he grew warm at her touch), "It's an anniversary party for us, because we never got the chance to celebrate."

"Oh," she said softly.

"99, you look hot," Hymie complimented her, "Just like a tape recorder."

"Um . . . thanks . . . I think."

"Hi 99," the Chief said, coming up and putting his arms around his favorite spy couple, "Sorry about the botched up surprise. We all thought you'd be coming down the stairs-" he paused, staring pointedly at the young woman, "-just like I instructed you to."

"Well," Max quipped automatically, "That's what we get for instructing."

"Max!"

"Sorry about that, Chief," 99 said quickly, before their boss could publicly berate her husband, "It's just . . . well, I was feeling a little tired."

"Oh, that's all right, 99," the Chief assured her, kissing her cheek, "Anyway, enjoy the party. Come on, Hymie."

The robot followed his boss over to the food table. "But Chief," the robot informed him, "I do not eat cocktail weenies. They clog up my gears . . ."

Max and 99 were left to themselves. They stood facing each other, but averting their eyes and not speaking.

The Admiral Hargrade shuffled by, and stopped to wave and say, "Hi, kids!" before spinning back around and falling, face first, into the punch bowl. As Larabee fished the old man out, 99 returned her attention back to her nervous husband.

"Max," she questioned, "whose idea was this?"

"Uh . . . mine?"

"Max," she said, looking at him.

"Okay, it was the Chief's," he admitted, "But I agreed with the idea."

"I see," she murmured, trying to hide her amusement, "But why did you do this?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but before Max could say a word, a spotlight appeared over him and 99. One also appeared across the room, at the podium, where the Chief stood.

"Attention, please," the Chief announced into the microphone, "As you all know, we're here to celebrate the first anniversary of the marriage of our favorite spy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell Smart!" He paused, while the audience applauded and toasted the couple. "Now, without any further ado, Agent 86- Max- has something he'd like to read to his wife. Come on up here, Max. All right everybody, let's hear it for 86!" The crowd clapped and whistled, just as Max nervously made his way up to the podium.

"Go on, Max," the Chief said, beckoning him closer.

"But Chief," Max whispered desperately. "I don't know if I can do this. 99 and I haven't even had the chance to make up yet."

"Well, this is your chance, right now," the Chief explained quietly, "With your poem."

"Oh no!" Max groaned, slapping his forehead, "I didn't know my poem was supposed to be my olive branch, Chief. I'm doomed for sure, now."

His boss looked at him in confusion. "Why do you say that, Max?"

"Because Chief," Smart explained with a despondent stare, "I have failed every poetry class I've ever taken! I never understood poetry! Chief, I don't even like poetry!"

The Chief sighed and rubbed at his sore temples. "Oh Max, then why did you offer to write her a poem?"

Max shrugged. "I dunno. Thought it would make me sound cool, or something, I suppose."

"Oh brother," the Chief groaned, giving his agent a shove in the direction of the podium. "Uh, just get up there Max, and, well . . . do your best."

Lowering his head, and near tears, Max whimpered, "Gee, I'm going to have to do better than that!"

"Max, just read!"

"My Wife," he began, "By Maxwell Smart, Agent 86 of Control . . .

Someone might ask, what is a wife?

It is someone you love for the rest of your life.

It is a woman you hold most dear to your heart.

The person with whom you never can part.

It is a loving, gentle girl who fulfills all your needs.

It is the one, pretty rose in a garden full of weeds.

A wife is a woman that I hold most dear.

She's the one who whispers softly in my ear.

A woman who gives the most tenderest kiss.

The one- when she's gone- I always do miss . . ."

In the audience, 99's eyes began to well up with tears. Her beautiful face and glistening, blue eyes were not lost on the poetry spouting Max. The sight of her made him misty eyed, as well.

"99 is the one I adore.

I'll love her forever, and ever, and more!

Prettier than Zsa Zsa, Vivien and that Taylor named Liz.

When I first looked upon her, I learned what love is.

And when she gives birth to our child, around this November

Her gift of life will let us live forever . . ."

The crowd offered a collective, "Aw!"

Max went on.

"Oh 99, you own my heart, 'cause I gave it to thee.

You make me feel so very glad to be me.

And 99, whose loveliness rivals the goddess Aphrodite . . .

Eh . . . you look dazzling in your shirt, and I love you!

"Thank you, and good night!" Max left the podium.

"Hmm," Larabee surmised wisely, whispering to the Chief, "He's in for some lovin'!"

The audience began whispering amongst themselves.

"That last part made no sense!"

"You call that art?"

"This is what passes for poetry these days?"

The Chief eyed Max incredulously. "Um Max, uh, that was . . . very . . .interesting."

"It didn't even rhyme," Larabee pointed out.

Max glared at the man. "Well, I ran out of time! And who could think of a word to rhyme with dite?"

"Mighty," Hymie suggested.

"Tidy?" Larabee asked.

Smart rolled his eyes at his friends. "Well now you tell me! Where were you guys twenty minutes ago when I was writing that darn poem?!"

The Chief shushed them all, then stepped back up to the podium. "Uh. . . let's all hear it for Max, everybody!" The sounds of embarrassed coughing, snickers and nervous titters permeated the air. The Chief loudly cleared his throat. "I said, let's all hear it for Max!" Suddenly, the basement echoed with thunderous applause.

Max spun around, smiling, and graciously drank in the adulation. But after the cheering died down, Max noticed that his number one fan was nowhere to be seen. His mood darkening into despair, he blew out a breath, and slumped away dejectedly.

Deciding to get a moment of fresh air, Max slipped out the basement exit and forced himself up the stairs. Right behind Control headquarters, was a little park and playground. For some reason, Max was drawn to it.

The park was still brimming with life in the cool evening air. People were out for an evening stroll; walking their dogs; jogging for their health. Too much traffic for Max's despondent state of mind. He ventured over to the deserted playground and climbed up the ladder to the top of the slide and sat down.

He was just about ready to give into the urge for a good cry, when he heard someone else crying. He listened carefully for a moment, trying to discern where it was coming from. After deducing that it was coming from the general area of the crawling tubes (right next to the monkey bars), Max slid down the slide, and hurried over to investigate. He had anticipated finding a little, lost child, but what he did find certainly surprised him. "99!" he gasped.

"Max!" she exclaimed, looking up in alarm.

"Here 99," he said, offering her a hand, "Let's get you out of there." She took his preferred hand, and allowed him to help her out of the tube. "Gee 99, I sure am surprised."

"To find me in the park?" she asked, wiping at her eyes, "Or to find me in the park crying?"

"No, to find you hiding inside of that tube."

She averted her eyes. "Yes, I suppose it was rather . . . childish."

"Actually, I'm surprised that you fit in the tube!" he blurted, until he noticed the anger and hurt expression on her face. He sighed, took her hand and led her over to the swings. They each sat down in one, and began swaying back and forth.

"So, uh," Max murmured, not directly looking at his wife, but seeing her wipe her face, out of the corner of his eye, "What brings you to the playground, 99?"

"Honestly?" she asked, sniffling.

"Well, yeah," Max told her, shaking his head.

"It was . . . your poem," she whispered softly.

"Jeez," he groaned, "Was it really that bad?! I mean, I know it didn't rhyme at the end. And I'm not Robert Barrett Browning, or Elizabeth Frost, but-"

99 burst out laughing, in spite of herself. "Oh Max," she chuckled, "It's Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Frost."

"Well, excuse me, Mr. Tibbs," he muttered.

"Max," she continued to laugh, "You have the right actor, darling, but not the right character. I think you're a little confused."

"Oh, confused, would we?"

"Listen Max," she explained, rapidly, "Sidney Poitier did play Mr. Tibbs, but that was from the movie In The Heat Of The Night. But you're thinking of his character in To Sir, With Love in which he portrays a teacher named Mark Thackery."

"Wha?"

She rolled her eyes. "Call me Mr. Tibbs, okay?"

"All right, then, Mr. Tibbs!"

"Actually, Max, you would have to call me Miss Tibbs."

"Really?" he asked in confusion, "I always thought Sidney Poitier was a man."

99 wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. "Oh Max," she sighed, "I only meant that, if you were calling me Tibbs, then I should be called a miss, or ms. But Sidney Poitier is a definitely a mister."

"Hmph!" he said, folding his arms across his chest, "You certainly seem sure of yourself, 99! What, did you check, or something?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Max!"

"You're ducking the question, 99!"

"No Max, I never checked!"

"You promise?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course, love."

He smiled. She'd called him love! That was definitely a good sign. He recalled something. "But why did my poem make you cry? Was it that horrible?" He looked heartbroken by the prospect.

"No Max," she admitted, "It made me cry because . . . it was, um . . ."

"What?" he sighed, "Stupid? Dorky? Horrendous? Idiotic?"

"Beautiful," she told him, her eyes brimming over with tears of joy.

He started to cry, as well. "Really? You mean, beautiful as in . . . lovely beautiful? Or, beautiful as in, horribly icky beautiful?"

"Beautiful," she explained, "As in wonderful, exquisite, perfect."

"Perfect?" he asked in surprise, "But it didn't even rhyme at the end."

"Perfect," she confirmed, reaching out to touch his arm.

The hair on his arm stood on end, electrified by the feel of her skin against his. Something he'd been deprived of for quite awhile. Could this possibly mean that she had forgiven him? He certainly hoped so. He had the inkling to sleep in their bed tonight, beside his wife, in her arms, curling himself around her big, beautiful, warm tummy.

"So, I guess you thought it was good, then," he said, looking at her through furtive glances.

"No," she set the record straight, "I thought it was perfect!"

He smiled, gripping her hand tightly. "99? Does this mean you forgive me?"

"That all depends."

"On what?" he asked anxiously.

"Are you going to apologize to me?" she asked shyly. She turned away from him.

Max stood up from the swing, and grabbed the chains of hers and halted her swinging. Then he knelt down before her, and took her hands into his. "99," he said with the utmost sincerity, "I am so very sorry; sorry for my rotten behavior, and my stupidity and for the mean things I did and said to you. Can you ever forgive me?"

She began to cry harder. "Oh yes, Max, I do. I forgive you!" Then she fell into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Yep," Max said, hugging her tightly, "Hormones."

"Max!"

"Just kidding, 99," he laughed, kissing her cheek, "I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. I love you, darling."

"And I love you, Max," she sighed, "And I want to apologize, too."

"Why? For being so hormonal?"

"No Max, I meant-"

"For acting so crazy?"

"No Max! I'm talking about-"

"For behaving like such a jealous, idiotic-"

"Nevermind, Max," she sighed, "I'm not sorry, anymore!"

"Well, you really have no reason to be," he assured her, "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Thank you, Max."

"Nothing that a hormonal pregnant lady wouldn't do."

"Max!"

"Eh, sorry about that, 99."

"You really know how to push my buttons, you know that?"

"I know, honey," he soothed, "That's just your hormones talking."

"Max, do you want me to kill you?"

"I love you, 99."

"Uh- huh . . ."

He smiled- nervously- and said, "Um, 99, does this mean I get to start kissing you again? I mean, all the time, on a regular basis?"

"Yes, Max."

"And I get to sleep in the bed now?"

"Not if you keep up with the hormone jokes, Max."

"What if I stop?"

"Then . . . yes, you may sleep in the bed."

"And, um, can we start, well . . ."

She began to blush. "Max!"

He was quiet for a moment . . . "Um, well, will we . . .?"

"Yes, Max," she said, sighing in embarrassment.

He smiled devilishly at her. "Come here, you beautiful, pregnant, gorgeous Aphrodite!" And he grabbed her, ravishing her entire face, holding her as closely as her tummy would allow him to.

XXX

In the bushes, Hymie and Larabee were staked out. Hymie was relaying over his radio transmitter to the Chief back at headquarters, what was going on. "No, Chief," the robot told him, "They are not still arguing. They seem to be connected at the lips for the moment." Pause. "Yes, they both appear to be enjoying it."

Larabee smiled knowingly, taking in the scene, as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Yep," he surmised, "There's gonna be some lovin' in the Smart household tonight . . ."

The "Sick" End

By Lisa M. S. Johns-Stiles

June/2001

Notes: 1. This snippet takes place directly after the 5th season episode "Widow Often Annie" in which Max had to romance a KAOS agent, while a very pregnant 99 had to sit by and let him.

2. The Max line "I'm trying to love you." is one of fellow Smartian Gina "Wiggles" Woodard's favorite lines. I wrote it so that no one would completely understand what Max meant. I'm not sure that Max knew what he meant. In fact, I'm not sure that I know what he meant. Its meaning is left up to the reader's imagination.

3. The streets Broadway and Pantano, are actually real streets in my hometown, Tucson, AZ.

4. The bar scene, with the pub "Pink and Flamingo" is actually a bar that I use in another GS story- an original story, from the upcoming "99, What Happened To Your Hair?".

5. The line the Chief says to Max, "When you love someone, you're always insecure" is a direct line from the cool 1980's Billy Joel song, "Tell Her About It" (one of my favorite Billy Joel songs, incidentally).

6. BEATLES SONG: "Here Comes the Sun" is from the 1969 Beatles album "Abbey Road" and sung and written by George Harrison.

7. In Max's poem, the women he mentions: Zsa Zsa, was Zsa Zsa Gabor. Vivien was for the late great Vivien Leigh (AKA Scarlett O'Hara in "Gone With The Wind" 1913-1967). And the "Taylor named Liz" was, most obviously the Academy Award winning actress, Elizabeth Taylor.

8. In Max's poem, the line "You look dazzling in your shirt, and I love you" is a translation (probably a bad one, at that) from one of the opening songs of the wonderful Japanese Animated 1980's television series "Maison Ikkoku" (it's awesome- my fiancée's favorite, and one of mine, too).

9. Larabee's line, "He's in for some lovin'" comes from an episode of "The Simpsons" uttered by Homer Simpson. His other line, "There's going to be some lovin' in the Smart household tonight" is a derivative of that same line, uttered by my good buddy and web mistress "Wiggles".

10. Sidney Poitier starred in the 1967 film "To Sir, With Love" as a teacher who taught students the value of life. His film "In The Heat of the Night" (in which he played Mr. Tibbs) also came out in 1967.

11. Max's line "Oh, confused, would we?" is just another Homer Simpson quote. Yes, I know, I've used it before. But it's just so darn funny, I can't help myself.


End file.
